Ego Game
by StrikeTeam
Summary: Amber has one goal in mind when she moves back to Chicago: find the man she left broken-hearted and alone when he needed her most. Masquerading as a DJ in a pixellated rat mask, Jason uses his ego to cope with the pain he's been suffering with for years. Sometimes broken things don't look broken on the outside. Sometimes broken things can't be fixed.
1. Foreword

Not really sure how far I intend to go with this fanfic. Ideally I'd like to finish it, but I'm not sure how long I can stay interested or how long it's going to be. The first chapter is fairly short, but I'll be updating frequently in 1k-2k bursts every day, every other day or every few days.

**I'm toning down the rating to T, but there is some explicit language.  
><strong>

**Note: This story contains spoilers from the watchdogs game and the badblood DLC.**

Please keep in mind: I have no beta-reader, so I go back and re-read/edit typos constantly. Sorry for any errors I don't catch!

Thank you in advance for the reads, favourites and reviews c: I don't reply to reviews here, but I promise I read and appreciate all of them. This fic will also be posted on AO3. I reply to comments directly there.

- strike


	2. Chapter 1

"Come on, loosen up a little. You need to have a little fun, find someone to get your freak on with, drink your worries away." Camila flips her black hair over her shoulder as she surveys herself in the mirror. She dons a flirty red dress, and when she twirls, little is left to the imagination in regards to her underwear choice for the night.

"I don't intend to whore myself out, thanks." I return my attention to my laptop screen, only to have a stiletto thrown at me half-heartedly. It lands in the trash can beside my desk, and I ignore it.

"It wouldn't work for you anyway, since you're dressed like a nun." Camila retorts.

I scoff, looking down at my black cocktail dress. It ends just above the knees and has a more conservative collar than Camila's dress, but it's still not nun-like. Not by a long shot.

"This is far from nun-like." I reply flatly, "but hey, maybe you're right. Maybe I should be more like a nun and stay at home. I'm sure my computer would be a better companion than any of the sweaty guys I'll meet tonight anyway."

"That's enough of that! You need to give up on that computer nonsense and get your life together, girl. How long are you going to stay single, mourning over what used to be? Over one guy you used to date?" She levels a disapproving look at me. "You need to throw away anything that ties you down to the life you used to lead. Like hacking."

I know she only has my best interests at heart, but _God_, it's like listening to my parents rant. I don't need to hear it from someone else.

"You promised me we'd go clubbing today." She pouts, placing her hands on her hips. "This is my _one_ chance to hit it big with a rich, hot guy so I can make my big break in Chicago. I basically had to sell my soul to get invites to Dot Connexion."

I sigh. By "_sell my soul_" she means sleeping with an undesirable man, and I didn't think she'd actually go that far when I jokingly suggested I'd only go out clubbing if she could get me into Dot Connexion.

Truth is, I can get myself in just fine. All I'd have to do is create a fake digital signature and a forged invite… I just haven't had the time to test out my theory yet. And given Camila's little speech just now, I don't think she'd agree to my methods.

Besides, I can risk getting myself caught—my parents already expect trouble from _me_—but I don't want to drag her into that potential mess. Her parents expect better of her, which is why she keeps her weekend partying a secret from them.

"I'm going, I'm going." I concede apologetically, closing my laptop as I stand.

"Then what are we waiting for?" The smile immediately reappears on her face, and she grabs her purse and keys from my bed, "Time for you to forget that immature, bratty ex-boyfriend of yours. You can do _so_ much better."

Here we go again. She met the guy _once_ and she acts like she knows him inside and out.

I roll my eyes and fight back a smile as I grab my phone and follow her out of the room.

If she knew the_ real _reason I'm gunning to go to Dot Connexion, I'd never hear the end of it.


	3. Chapter 2

The line is already stretching around the corner when we arrive at the Ambrose Theater. The bright façade lights bathe the sidewalk in a golden hue, and the buzz of chatter drowns out the faint beats resonating from inside.

Camila and I are making our way to the end of the line when one of the bouncers spots our passes and stops us, pulling us aside. To our surprise, he lets us bypass the lineup entirely, handing each of us a VIP lanyard.

"Did you know these were VIP passes?" I raise a curious eyebrow at Camila as we pass through the front entrance doors.

"You think I'd play around with people who don't have the goods?" She feigns offence, then smiles, elbowing me. "It's probably nothing, pretty girls always get to skip the line."

When we step onto the dance-floor, there's already a small throng of people mingling about under the flashing lights. It's hard to hear much more than the steady electro rhythm being pumped through the speakers. The giant rat head suspended from the ceiling is quite a work of art in itself, and I'm gazing up, mesmerized by it, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

A waiter holds a tray of drinks out towards me. I gaze curiously at the LED box on his head, wondering how he manages to see where he's going. Probably the same technology Defalt uses for his mask, I guess.

I politely refuse the drink, but Camila reaches for one of the bottles.

"Woah—you can't drink." I put out a hand to stop her, "How are you going to get home?"

"What are you talking about? You'll drive me home, clearly." She looks at me questioningly. A look of realization dawns on her face before I can figure out how to explain that I probably won't be leaving with her tonight.

"Seriously, Amber? You're _that_ confident that you'll be going home with someone?" She casts me a disbelieving look.

Confident? _Ha_. The only thing that I'm confident about is that Jay's going to be _pissed_ when I show up after the way I left years ago. Odds are, he'll just kick me out on my ass. He doesn't exactly have a manageable temper.

"Well, I won't stand in your way, sly girl. Find yourself a date." She smiles, gesturing towards the dance floor.

I cringe inwardly, realizing that I've damned myself to a night of fake-flirting until I can get a private moment with the DJ. It may not even come. Then what? I'll be humiliated in front of Camila. And if _she_ finds someone to go home with then, well… looks like I'll be taking the L home. Not pleasant.

I barely have time to dwell on my sticky situation when someone rudely pushes past me and starts talking loudly to Camila.

"Damn, girl!" He checks her out with dramatized flare. I note the strained smile on her face, and wonder if this idiot is one of her past… _acquaintances_.

"Nice to see you tonight, Sammy!" She recovers from her initial reaction, and flashes him a more enthusiastic grin, "And thank you again for the passes. Amber and I are thrilled to be here."

She yanks me towards her, her fingernails digging in to my skin. That's my warning not to escape, so I guess she _really_ doesn't like this guy. I survey him quickly. He's wearing a _ton_ of gold jewellery, but he's also dressed in a suit so… I guess he's someone important around here. He did manage to secure those VIP passes after all. He eyes me with a lecherousness I don't appreciate, and I feel a bit bad that Camila got involved with him.

"I'm glad you ladies are enjoying yourselves. Can I get you some drinks? It's all on me." He spreads his hands generously, and I catch the glint of his diamonds rings in the light.

_Totally rich_. Well, Camila's always saying she wants to marry someone wealthy and well-connected. Maybe this dude fits the bill.

"No, thanks. I don't drink." I smile politely, feeling a growing urge to put as much space between us as possible. He certainly doesn't fit _my_ bill.

"I'll have a drink or two, why not?" Camila shrugs.

Sam disappears to get the drinks, and I shoot Camila a pointed glare, but she waves me off half-heartedly.

"He's offering to pay, so why not? If you need to go home with someone then I'll just get Sam to drive me back." Her expression is tinted with boredom, and I wonder what she actually thinks of the man.

"If you put it that way, I feel bad. I don't want to leave my friend with a creep." I frown.

"He's not a creep." There's a hint of annoyance in her tone, and she quickly corrects herself, "He's not actually a terrible person."

Well, does she like him or not? It's so hard to tell with this girl.

"Listen, I'm going to go dance. I don't want to burden you tonight, so have fun! Text me when you leave." She waves at me and starts walking away before I have a chance to protest.

Well, this works out in my favour I suppose. I finally have a free moment to decide what I'm going to do next.

I glance up at the second floor balcony overlooking the dance floor. From up there, it's not easy to see where I'm standing. The column shadows make a good observation place, hidden from the DJ's view but perfect for getting a good look around.

There are a lot of tough-looking men in suits lingering around the edges of the dance floor—way too many to be bouncers. Could be hired security, but why? Has Defalt been trash-talking someone important? Or does Joseph DeMarco want to make sure his exhibit is 100% safe?

Makes me glad I didn't go forward with my plans to make the fake invite though. I didn't anticipate this.

I glance up at the DJ booth. He's preoccupied behind his turntables, nodding his head to the beat as he spins the tracks. If this Defalt isn't an imposter… then that man in the rat mask is the same Jason Basek Markowicz I left in Chicago three years ago.

I can profile him with my phone, if I can make it to the second balcony. Question is… does this VIP pass give me that much access?

I cross the floor, sticking to the shadows until I'm forced to cross into the light to get to the stairs. I flash my pass at the guard and he looks at it, then asks to see my phone.

Why?

My heart is pumping furiously, and I'm not sure why. What am I afraid of? He's not going to attack me. I hand my phone over reluctantly and he uses his own phone to do something—I barely have time to register what—next thing I know he's got his hand on his earpiece, mumbling a question to someone.

He says my full name aloud. Looks uncertain. Flinches as though someone has yelled in his ear. Repeats my name. Listens quietly for a long time. Finally, a sober expression settles on his face and he looks at me.

"Come with me. Defalt wants to see you in his dressing room after the show."

"I'm being detained?" My brow furrows in disbelief. What the hell is going on?

"You are his guest, miss." The man explains, but he's grabbed my arm by the elbow and now he's leading me out of an exit door.

I just wanted to go upstairs… but damn, looks like I blew my cover. Defalt's pretty careful about the people he lets near him. I don't remember Jay ever being so paranoid… maybe this person is a fake.

We head down a narrow hall and take a left before we reach an unmarked and heavily secured door. The man swipes his security badge against the sensor and opens the door, allowing me to enter first. He enters as well, closing the door behind him. If I'm a guest, why do I need to be baby-sitted by security, huh, Defalt?

"Do you have any weapons?" The man asks, but his rhetorical tone makes it clear that he doesn't expect me to have any. Duh, I'm wearing a fairly tight dress, heels, and no jacket. Where am I going to be hiding a gun? Thigh holster?

"No. I came here to see him and he knows me." I explain, unwilling to divulge too much. He doesn't reply, so I ignore him and look around the space.

It's pretty big for a dressing room—exposed brick walls, a loft ceiling…. Looks more like a bachelor pad. The ASCII art and neon lighting make it clear that this is the rat DJ's turf, as if you could get any more geeky.

At least _that's _in line with Jay's decorating sense. He's always been a gaudy idiot, but he did have a talent for making things with lights and electronics. Defalt really might be him after all.

I sit down on the couch, resigning myself to spending the rest of the night here until _Mr. Important_ decides he finally wants to meet with me. Sorry Camila, no fake-flirting for me tonight. I'm a hostage.

The security guard stands motionless by the door, his eyes pinned on me. His bald head gleams in the light, and I stare back at him defiantly.

"He sure has a lot of bouncers." I comment.

"I'm not a bouncer. I'm a fixer."

Wait, _what_?

What would Defalt—_Jay_ need fixers for? I thought he gave up his hacking ages ago. I thought… I thought that incident with Dedsec was the final straw.

"I can't answer any of your questions. He'll be very angry."

"Yeah, I figure." I sigh, "He's already probably pissed that I'm even here."

He just nods, and I know I'm in for a hell of a night.


	4. Chapter 3

I sigh, glancing up at the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. It's been two hours, and I'm _still_ a prisoner in this man-cave-esque excuse for a dressing room.

The guard stepped out ages ago, and he still hasn't returned. If he hadn't locked the door I would have been tempted to just leave. I can find another way to contact Defalt, on my own terms. I mean, seriously, how many hours does he expect me to waste waiting for him?

Camila hasn't even bothered to text me, so I guess she's too preoccupied with "Sammy" to notice my absence. Well, whatever. Maybe that's a good thing. If she notices that I'm missing she might assume I was bluffing and went home early… alone.

I would totally do that. _To hell with honour and pride!_

There are faint voices in the hallway, and as they grow louder it becomes clear that one is much angrier than the other, firing off a continuous stream of expletives and random insults.

I can't help but smile.

It _definitely_ sounds like him.

The door slams open and clatters against the wall with a heavy bang. Defalt storms in, the security guard almost directly on his heel. The look on the guard's face is a mixed expression of concern and frustration, maybe a little irritation thrown in for good measure.

"Out." Defalt points at him and jerks his head towards the doorway.

"But Defalt, what about your safety—"

"_That_ fucking girl isn't going to hurt me." He points at me, "But next time, do your damn job and give me the _complete_ guest list in advance when I ask for it, or _you'll _be the one getting hurt." He snaps.

Well, the good news is that he's not mad.

The bad news is that he's furious.

The man hesitates just briefly before stepping out of the room, reluctantly closing the door behind him. It locks quietly, and Defalt turns sharply to face me, pulling off first his hood, then his mask.

The nostalgia hits me like a fricking _tsunami_.

That stupid face. The slightly broken nose, the angry brown eyes, the brows furrowed in irritation. The only thing that differs is the striking blue colour of his fauxhawk, a shade as bright and obnoxious as the LED lights in his mask.

He crosses the floor as I sit on the couch ogling at him, coming to a stop just in front of me. Holy shit, this is _Jason. It's him! In the flesh. I'm not imagining it._

"What the fuck are you doing here, Amber?" The volume of his voice is surprisingly quieter than what it was just moments ago. It's no less venomous, though.

I'm so stunned that he's actually _Jay_ that I don't even know how to start answering his question. And when I finally remember how to speak again, I can't even give him a serious answer.

"You wanted to meet here." I venture a joke, but one corner of his mouth twitches and I can tell that he's _this_ close to snarling at me.

I stand up, but he still towers over me by a good five inches, and his body language is anything but playful. Still, I can't help myself.

"Have you grown?"

"Don't fuck around with me." He snaps, stepping closer. I can almost feel his breath on my face, "Why are you here? Why now?"

The anger is still eating away at him, and I should really stop with the jokes before he decides to kick me out. It's just… it's been so long since he was mad at me. It's been so long since _anything_. I still miss him like hell and he's standing right here.

"I was looking for you, Jay." I frown.

"How did you get a guest invite from Sam Cho? Did he send you? I'll be fucking damned if that asshole thinks he can find out my identity this way." He's fuming, and it takes me a second to even register that he's talking about _that_ Sam I met earlier.

"I didn't tell him who you were! He doesn't even know me." I reply defensively, "And I only got the pass because my friend is… friends with him." I feel a little awkward disclosing any more about the nature of Camila's relationship with the man, but the piercing gaze Jay levels at me now suggests that he already knows.

"That fucking bitch, I thought she was familiar. She was that one friend of yours who hated me with a vengeance, wasn't she?" He glares at me.

"I thought you were the one who approved guests. Why would you invite people you don't want near you?" I ignore his question about Camila, though he's surprisingly spot-on. I can't believe he even remembers her.

"I don't have a choice, when an idiot runs Dot Connexion. He's in DeMarco's good books." He spits the name out like it's poisoned, and it's clear that he doesn't think highly of the man.

I don't really have a reply, and before I have a chance to think of one, his anger flares up again as he remembers our original conversation.

"If Cho didn't send you, who did? Dedsec?"

"What—No! Why would Dedsec send me?! You know I left that scene when you did." I look at him in mixed disbelief and frustration.

"Then where have you been?" His tone is painfully accusatory, "Where did you fucking go, all these years? You didn't even say goodbye."

"My parents—"

He cuts me off with a scoff and turns away.

No, here we go again. It's always the same with him. He's impatient. He's immature. He doesn't take kindly to being wronged. Let's face it, I didn't expect him to welcome me back with open arms, but I supported him throughout that Dedsec murder debacle. I can't believe he's suspicious of me.

"Listen to me." I step in front of him, "My parents threatened to cut me off if I talked to you again. I don't want… I don't want a broken family. The Dedsec incident was the final straw. I went to jail for _72 hours, Jay_."

"And I got you out!" He snaps, throwing his mask onto the couch, "_I_ was the one who made sure those charges didn't get pressed. And how exactly did you repay me? _Oh, _I remember! By walking out of my fucking life. I guess you don't count _me_ as family, then."

Damn, that hurts.

"That's not true!" I raise my voice despite myself, "You asked me why I'm here; why do you think I'm here?! Because I wanted you back, you stupid idiot. Because you mean something to me!"

"You're telling me you disobeyed your parents to come back?" He appraises my excuse with a critical stare. I clench my fists, and force myself to calm down. Yelling isn't going to help. I didn't come here to fight, I came here to make amends.

"I'm sorry for leaving you in the first place, but I didn't have a choice. The police told my parents they'd keep me under surveillance, and I couldn't risk getting into trouble again. I'm sorry, Jay."

I really am.

I'm sorry that I didn't convince him to leave Chicago with me. We could have eloped. I could have figured out another way to pay for university rather than depending on my parents.

But who am I kidding? That would have been the immature thing to do.

Instead I ran away and left him behind to pick up the pieces.

His expression is still stormy, but his gaze has settled on my left forearm.

I grab his right arm, pushing the sweater sleeve up before he has a chance to pull away. As I thought, it's still there: his matching circuit board tattoo.

We didn't get them because we just wanted cheesy couple tattoos. It meant more than that. Friendship. A connection. Loyalty. I forsook all those things when I left, and yet… I just couldn't bear to remove it.

"You kept it." I comment quietly.

"So? You did too." He replies gruffly, "I thought your control-freak parents would have made you get rid of it by now."

"They can't control my life. Not anymore." I shake my head, stepping closer to him to emphasize my point, "I told you, I'm back. And no one sent me."

He eyes me silently, his mouth still set in an uncertain frown, his brow furrowed by the anger that had coloured his expression just minutes ago.

"I came back because I missed you, and I'm sorry. And more than that, I love—"

"Stop." He turns away from me, "That might be true, but things aren't the same any more. We can't go back to that."

Well, I can't say I didn't anticipate this. Anticipating it doesn't make it any easier to hear, though.

"You don't… want me back?" I hear the pain in my own voice.

"That's not what I said!" He turns to face me, frustrated by his inability to explain, "Fuck—look at you. Why wouldn't I want you back? But I can't. Not now. It's too dangerous."

"What are you talking about, Jay? You're a DJ. What danger would you possibly be in?" I think of all the fixers I saw in the Ambrose, and suddenly an uncomfortable possibility dawns on me.

"Is someone targeting you?" I step towards him, and he begins to turn away again, but I grab him by the shoulders and force him to look me in the eye. He gazes ahead silently, unwilling to divulge anything.

"You're not still hunting for Raymond Kenney, are you?"

The question makes his face twitch slightly, and I know that I've hit the nail on the head.

"_Jason—_" The cautionary tone in my voice is all I have. What am I supposed to say to him? He's already getting angry again, and I've only said his name. Every time we have this conversation, we fight. I don't need that right now.

"Never mind, this isn't the time. I should have known that'd be it." I interrupt him before he has a chance to yell at me. He remains silent, but the scowl on his face means he's not satisfied with my tone.

"I doubt Kenney has enough manpower or resources to justify this many fixers for your protection." I eye him carefully, "So it's something bigger. Who's paying for the fixers?"

"It's none of your business." He snaps, removing my hands from his shoulders.

"Jay, I know you. I know _everything_ about you. Are you really going to hide this from me?" I cross my arms. I probably don't have any right to be angry with him after what I did. That doesn't mean I'm going to accept that he's keeping things from me or that he considers me suspicious.

"It's fucking BLUME, okay? It's Blume. Are you happy?" He practically snarls at me, but that's not shocking.

Blume. Frickin' Blume. _That's_ the shocking part.

"I'm not going to judge you. You know I've always been there to support you." I reply quietly, gathering my composure. He watches me contemplatively, and I know he's trying to figure out if I'm secretly disapproving of his decision.

And it's true; I'm not comfortable with him working for Blume. But knowing him, it's not because he considers their cause "noble"or justified—he's a blackhat hacker after all—no, it's because he thinks their resources will help him find the man who caused the blackout that led to his brother's death.

After all these years, I thought maybe his obsession with Raymond Kenney would fade. I thought maybe he could move on and accept that Brian's death is no one's fault, but… if he's going this far to find Kenney, it's clear that he's taking this more seriously than ever.

This isn't the time to talk him out of anything. I need to build up rapport, or he'll keep shutting me out.

"Okay, so I know the situation now." I shrug, "And I'm not any closer to leaving."

"Amber, please." He's practically pleading. It sounds like a tired request, "I can't drag you into this. It's dangerous."

"How is this any different from when we were in Dedsec? It's not any less illegal, Jay. It's not any less dangerous." I hold his gaze defiantly.

"The stakes are higher, and if anything happens to you I-"

"If anyone was going to target me, they'd already have done it. It's not exactly uncommon knowledge that Sh1ft and Defalt hung around together." I roll my eyes.

"I've been cleaning up your trail, you damn noob." He replies, irritation in his voice. I give him the most disbelieving look I can muster.

"You? _You've_ been cleaning up my trail? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Defalt one of the biggest names in Chicago's entertainment industry right now? Isn't Defalt the mastermind behind the digital trip apps, isn't Defalt the one with his face plastered across the city, with his signature ASCII crap all over the web? How do you think I even found you? All I had to do was follow your tail."

I see the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he looks away, holding on defiantly to that sober expression, furrowing his brows like it'll help him stay annoyed.

"You should go home. Go back to your parents. Find a new guy… though you have terrible taste in men." He mumbles, not meeting my gaze.

I feel the smile tugging at my lips. He always said that to me… but he was the only one I ever dated, and he knows it.

"Jay, don't you miss me?" I place one hand on his chest, reaching the other over his shoulder and letting the backs of my fingers graze the nape of his neck.

He doesn't make any effort to remove my hands, so maybe he's finally warming up a little.

"You fucked up my show. Like I could concentrate knowing you were here." He casts me a mild glare, "Isn't that answer enough?"

"Not really." I smile faintly, running my fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

He surprises me by pressing his mouth to my lips without warning, and I take only a moment to recover from the shock before I respond. All at once, it feels like his anger has dissipated, replaced by a hungry passion I couldn't see before. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, and I'm reminded of the way our bodies fit together after three years of nothing but regret and loneliness. It's been too long since I've felt his touch and the way he dominates my mouth so stubbornly. I wrap my arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss becomes more passionate. He knows how vulnerable he makes me when he claims my lips, but this bout of passion is also a way for him to show his own vulnerability: This kiss is meant to show me that he's missed me just as badly as I've missed him.

When he finally breaks off the kiss, he releases me just enough to look me in the eye.

"I hope you didn't come back to just be _friends_." His pupils are dilated, and I raise an amused eyebrow at him, shrugging silently.

"If that's how you kiss a friend, you'd better stop that habit now." He smirks. If he can tell jokes, we're definitely on the path to reconciliation.

"If I kissed friends like that, that would make you my only friend." I reply, fighting the urge to grin.

For the first time since we've been reunited, he smiles. Genuinely. God, it makes my heart hurt.

"Fuck, Amber." He presses his forehead to mine, his voice a low growl, "How can you show up looking more beautiful than ever at a time when I just came to terms with losing you?"

"You don't have to come to terms with it. You haven't lost me." I whisper, touching his bottom lip with my fingertips.

He says nothing for a moment, then pulls away abruptly.

"Go home. I'll think about how to sort this shit out later." He calmly walks to the couch and picks up his mask, like we didn't just share the equivalent of a Hollywood romance scene a couple seconds ago.

"Drive me home, then. I don't have a lift." I reply.

He looks annoyed by the prospect, and is about to argue when I cut him off.

"Or I could just take the L. I'm sure there will be many friendly gentlemen who'll be happy to accompany me for the ride." I cross my arms, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Like hell you will." He grumbles, "Fine, but I'm _not_ sleeping over. I'm not even going inside."

I smile.

Seems like he doesn't realize that I've already achieved what I wanted tonight.


End file.
